


where the shoreline meets the sky

by withoutwords



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: M/M, Some Fluff, Some angst, Some humour, set some time during season 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-11
Updated: 2016-06-11
Packaged: 2018-07-14 10:15:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7167080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withoutwords/pseuds/withoutwords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve doesn’t move. Danny’s fairly volatile most mornings, so the morning after they first have sex is probably a whole other ball game.</p>
            </blockquote>





	where the shoreline meets the sky

**Author's Note:**

> something I wrote a] to avoid studying and b] because the thought of Danny [in this top](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/f1/85/95/f185958831986a9910d28fce058f0aa2.jpg) did things to me.

Steve finds Danny in the kitchen, cradling a cup of coffee in two hands. He’s wearing Steve’s favourite tank top, blue and worn; the golden SEAL insignia stretched out across his chest. He’s resting against the counter, soft, perfect, he almost looks ethereal.

“It’s early,” Steve says cautiously, hovering by the doorway. He’d rolled over to discover the bed was empty, to see the sun wasn’t up, to hear the static of the radio filtering into the room. _Nat King Cole_ , he’d thought to himself, _the crooners always help when Danny can’t sleep_.

“I noticed.”

Steve doesn’t move. Danny’s fairly volatile most mornings, so the morning after they first have sex is probably a whole other ball game.

“Any more where that came from?” he asks, gesturing to the coffee with a nod of his head. Danny just twists enough to pull the jug free, wiggling it around in Steve’s general direction. He takes it.

It’s not that Steve thought this would be easy. Sure, they weren’t drunk, it wasn’t frenzied, no one had pointed a gun to their heads – but. It was still what it was. It was still something they hadn’t thought out, or intended, something that didn’t come with a contingency plan.

It was still _sex_.

“Were you planning on sneaking out?” Steve asks quietly as he fills the biggest cup he can find. He can’t meet Danny’s eyes as the words come out, or hide the fact his hand shakes a little as he sets the pot down. He can’t pretend to know how to navigate this – Sex With Your Best Friend didn’t exactly come up in the training manual.

“Yes, Steven,” Danny says, pissy but not heated, and rubbing at his face. “Because stopping for coffee and KORL 101.1 seems like a great way to escape unnoticed, doesn’t it?”

“It’s a fair question. The only time I see you out of bed before 6 is under duress so - ”

“So maybe this isn’t the best time to point it out, huh? You know, seeing as it’s 4:30 on a Sunday morning and I’ve only had a few hours sleep.”

“Yeah,” Steve says, sitting down. “Maybe.”

At least Danny was talking. Beyond the argument they’d had on How To Operate Heavy Artillery Without Endangering Your Partner - Danny had been quiet last night. Quiet when Steve took the beer from his hand, quiet when he nudged him up against that very counter. Quiet when Steve asked, “Yeah?” except to nod, a jerky movement, and open his mouth for Steve’s.  


Quiet when he dug his fingers into Steve’s shoulder and came all over both of them.

“If you don’t want to do this, Danny,” Steve hears himself say, but he doesn’t know what else to tell him. Steve’s not going to coerce Danny, they know each other better than that; and as much he hates to admit it, as much as Cath told him time and again, Steve doesn’t fight at this level.

He’ll let Danny walk out.

“This? What _is_ this?”

“I – I don’t know.”

“Well neither do I!” Danny shouts, finding volume now and pushing off the counter. “You think I’ve been standing here for an hour pondering my financials, or, or who’ll win the World Series, or why I haven’t seen the Boss in concert in the whole time I’ve been on this godforsaken island - Jesus, Steve, _I don’t know what this is_. And it scares the shit out of me, okay?”

“Okay,” Steve says, a hand in the air, the other clenching tighter around his cup. “Okay, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, I’m not looking for sorry.”

Steve bites down on _what are you looking for?_ because he’s sure Danny doesn’t know that either. He can’t pretend to know that himself. “I’m not going to push you on this, Danny. That’s all I’m trying to say.”

“What, like that makes it easier?”

“I hope so.”

Danny laughs, the almost hysterical kind, and throws an arm out towards him. “Steve McGarrett, ladies and gentlemen, the beacon for all wisdom and truth. You’re literally Superman, babe, I mean, it physically hurts to know how much you’re literally Superman.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

As much as there’s a hint of a smile, crinkling at his eyes, Danny just shakes his head. He’s not moving, but it feels like he is; like there’s some kind of thrumming between them that could be tension, or could be something else. The thought, maybe, of what they had one.

[What else they could do.]

“For what it’s worth, I was sorry to wake up alone.”

Danny cuts a quick, dark look at Steve that sets his skin alight. “Jesus,” he says on a breath, and “Jesus,” again, going to put down his mug. Maybe he was afraid he might drop it.

“I don’t know what this is, or what I want it to be,” Steve tells him, while Danny braces himself against the counter with his head down. Frank Sinatra’s _Come Fly With Me_ is warbling around the room, and its the first time Steve’s actually been glad for it. It reminds him of Danny. “But, you know - I’d like to work it out. With you.”

There’s a pause. A moment for them both to catch their breath before Danny spins around and points an accusatory finger. “Did you just Smooth Dog me?”

“Danny,” Steve sighs, getting to his feet, confused about how this went from serious to ridiculous in no time flat. At this point it really shouldn’t surprise him - it’s always been part of the reason why he craves this, craves Danny. He’s all the disorder Steve never had.

“Fuck, I just got Smooth Dog-ed.”

“Danny.”

“I’m not a civilian in a bar with a uniform kink, Steve, that shit won’t work on me!”

This time Steve takes Danny’s - Steve’s - shirt in his fists and hauls him closer. “Danny, for once in your life just stop fucking talking, please.”

Danny does.

“I thought about this last year when I met you, and last month when you got sick, and last week when you were complaining that having orange juice with pulp should be punishable by law,” Danny opens his mouth as if to protest that point further but Steve cuts him off, “It’s not a line. I want you.”

Danny says, ”Fuck,” again and his head drops, but his hands reach out to grip at Steve’s waist. He’s breathing like he just chased down a perp, like he can’t seem to control it, and it just makes Steve pull him closer. He can smell Danny’s shampoo, and his tank top, and them, maybe, the remnants of what they were too tired to clean up last night.

Last night, which had started a lot like this. The touching, the almost disbelieving nature of it, like discovering something you thought you’d never have. Steve puts his mouth at Danny’s temple, his arm around his shoulders, his hand in his hair. “Danny.”

“Is this you not pushing?” Danny mutters quietly, but when Steve goes to step back Danny’s still got a hold of him, keeps him there. “I want you too. I’ve wanted you a long fucking time, Steven, and it goes well beyond awkward hand jobs and an - albeit stellar - heavy make out session.”

“Romantic.”

“Which is what I don’t know what to fucking do with, because I’ve never wanted that. Not with a man, not with a partner, not with someone who, God - you scare the _shit_ out of me.”

“Yeah.”

“But I,” Danny starts, and his fists start to unfurl and his head comes up to finally meet Steve’s eyes. “I,” he starts, and his mouth stays open, like there should be words coming from it but he’s finally, blissfully, run out. Steve kisses him.  


It’s not the gentle, wary kiss of last night; it’s biting, and wet, and makes Danny growl from somewhere deep in his throat. The sound goes straight to Steve’s dick - sound is what he’d missed last night, _noise_ \- and he pulls at the collar of Danny’s shirt, fingers through that thick thatch of hair, pulling him into the next room.

“The sofa?” Danny grunts, judging, but Steve pulls them both down on it anyway, Danny above him.

The sofa, yes, and the bed; and the floor and the shower and out there on the lanai. The beach and the water and the boat Steve’s been looking at getting; the abandoned pier a few clicks north when the moons out, big and bright. Everywhere and all the time, if only Danny will let him.

“This alright?” he asks Danny, his hands beneath the waistband of his sweatpants, over Danny’s bare ass and high on his thighs. He’s soft and warm, muscles thick and bunching, and Steve scratches at him, takes claim. 

“Yeah,” Danny says, muffled in Steve’s neck, cock hot and hard at Steve’s thigh. “I’d say we’re good.”

And they _are_ good, so good together. They laugh and fight and eat and play; they drink and rant and butt heads. They connect on a level Steve was conditioned not to trust, and yet trusts more than anything he’s ever known.

“Good,” he echoes, and it is, this, the two of them right here.

Everything else can wait.

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr!](http://thefancyspin.tumblr.com)


End file.
